


I Understand

by Dextolan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Good Parent Sheriff Stilinski, Protective Sheriff Stilinski, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott is a Good Friend, Sheriff Stilinski Feels, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 06:10:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18204554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dextolan/pseuds/Dextolan
Summary: A disaster strikes Beacon Hills. How will the pack pick themselves up after?





	I Understand

**Author's Note:**

> You’ll see what this story turns out to be. I don’t want to give anything more away but this does has content which may distress readers, such as suicidal thoughts and well... if you do read it and don’t like it just don’t continue, I don’t want salty comments. Thank you 😊  
> If you are one of those people please read the end note so you understand.

John loved his son.

He knew that his son must love him back. But he had a feeling the boy would be able to live without him one day. John, on the other hand, wasn’t as strong. If he lost his son he would take his gun in hand and press the barrel to his temple.

John was a weak man when it came to his son.

He was so proud of the kid and everything he did. He rarely got chance to tell him between the smart-ass comebacks and the useless arguments.

But Stiles knew. He always did.

* * *

 

John had managed to get a day off from work. Granted, it was a Wednesday so Stiles would be at school all day but at least John could catch up on sleep.

He woke up that morning with a rather stubborn teenager on his hands. He looked at his clock and leaned back on his pillow, expecting to hear Stiles singing in his shower. He’d of course been sworn to secrecy on that little fact. Although, he hoped to add it to a possible future wedding speech.

But there was no joyful singing that morning.

The Sheriff sat up and scrubbed his face with his calloused capped palms. He let out a groan when he reached his arms up and a delicious crack echoed from his back.

“You better be awake!” he called after clearing his throat.

He stood up and slipped on his pristine slippers, one day he hoped to have time to wear them thin.

He walked out into the hallway and stuck his head into Stiles’ room. He squinted at the bed and snorted.

“Sleeping beauty? Wakey wakey.”

Stiles ignored the sheriff, making no comment or movement.

“Hey, kid, up now.” John stared through the doorway. Stiles was lay on his side, facing the wall as he continued to feign sleep. John grunted out a laugh. Typical, he thought.

“Stop being ignorant, Stiles. I’m going to get coffee; if you’re not downstairs by then I will remove you from that bed.”

Stiles didn’t say anything and John rolled his eyes and went down to the kitchen. He drummed his fingers impatiently, waiting for Stiles. The coffee machine finished with a hum but John let it stand as he waited for his son. After a few minutes he growled angrily and stormed out of the kitchen.

This was meant to be his godamn day off and he was pandering after his son.

He got back to Stiles’ room and barged in. The kid still hadn’t moved. The audacity of teenagers!

John rummaged through Stiles’ draws, pulling out a pair of briefs and throwing them and a pair of socks at Stiles’ desk.

He banged the draws closed so as to alert and hopefully irritate Stiles.

“Get your ass up. You’re going to miss school. Get up.”

John glowered at his son’s turned back for a long moment but still the kid didn’t move.

“Do you want to be grounded?”

No answer.

“Stiles Stilinski! Listen to your damn father.”

John waited for the sarcastic reply but none came.

John’s brows furrowed together and he picked up the socks. With a smirk he lobbed them at his son’s still figure. They bounced off Stiles’ back and back onto the floor which was already littered with books and paper. The sixteen-year-old gave no reaction. John felt sudden concern for Stiles. He was never quiet this long; the last time he remembered the kid this quiet was when he had flu.

“Stiles?” John called, his tone softer this time. “You feeling alright?”

The boy didn’t answer or turn his head toward his father. John took a tentative step toward his kid.

“What time did you get to sleep, Stiles? This really needs to stop. You’ll be a zombie at school.”

John dodged a library book. He didn’t want to be charged for it if he left boot marks.

John got to the bed. He saw Stiles was slightly curved into the foetal position, his fingers resting limply in the sheets. He was still asleep... surprisingly.

John sat on the edge of the bed.

“Stiles?” He put his hand on his son’s shoulder and scowled. “Hey. Kiddo?”

He shook the shoulder but it seemed unsettlingly stiff.

The sheriff paused and let his hand trail down Stiles’ arm.

“Stiles...”

His hand gently pulled at the covers and raised them. He brushed Stiles’ pale skin and jerked his hand back.

It was cold.

“Stiles!”

John stood up and yanked at the covers. His son didn’t move.

“No... no, god, please don’t be, please don’t...”

John leaned over his son and turned him over onto his back. The boy was freezing, his skin paler than normal. His body seemed to relax from its stiffness for a moment as John manoeuvred him.

John gasped down at his son’s face. His eyes were closed, his lips partially parted from each other, but the peach hue was replaced by a light blue tint.

It reminded the father of when Stiles had had a raspberry slushy. He’d run circles around him and Claudia with blue lips and a vibrant blue tongue, giggling happily as he stuck his tongue out at his parents.

John felt his breath catch in his throat and he grabbed his child’s hand, pressing his fingers to find a hopeless pulse.

“Stiles. Oh, St-t-iles, buddy, you’re okay. Shhh, you’re okay, bud,” John mumbled as he took the other hand, even gentler this time and felt for a pulse. There was once again nothing but John didn’t release the hand. He rubbed his thumb over the skin gently.

John let his warm palm cup his son’s cold cheek, rubbing soothing circles into his skin. He ran his hand over Stiles’ hair. It hadn’t been spiked so it was scattered in random whisps around his angelic face.

“Gotta warm you up, hey, Kiddo? You’re t-too cold.”

Stiles’ grey bed-shirt grew dark in places as John’s tears fell without restraint, his hands still trying to heat his son up; revive him from the stupor of death, search for a pulse that wasn’t there.

The boy remained motionless, silent for the first time in a long time.

* * *

 

John didn’t believe he was a strong man, not when it came to his son.

**Author's Note:**

> So... my friend recently passed away in a similar fashion to this and I needed to unleash my feelings. This is what happened. I wrote this in an hour so it’s not the best but I needed it.  
> I will add major character death tags but I didn’t but want to give the story away initially. I’ll add the tag by the next chapter.


End file.
